


The Motherf♥cker Chronicles

by HomemadeLemonade



Category: Homeland
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Domestic Quinning, F/M, Love, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-06-03 14:08:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6613609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HomemadeLemonade/pseuds/HomemadeLemonade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Domestic scenes set in the same AU as Two of a Kind, ie still no CF S5. In fact, these scenes take place after the eventual happy ending of Two of a Kind. And in every scene, someone utters our heroes' favourite curse word ;-)</p><p> </p><p>  <strong> Please note this work is incomplete and I currently have no intention to conclude it.</strong></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_"Motherfucker!"_ Quinn breathed, horrified by the sight before him. He should have secured the area to prevent this sort of thing happening in their home. 

 _Their home._ It was both an unfamiliar and welcome notion. After Carrie had accepted his proposal that they get out of the agency together, it was she who had suggested they get a place together. He was tired of living anonymously in nondescript motels when stateside and she felt that she and Frannie had imposed on Maggie's generosity for long enough. And so they'd rented a two bedroom condo, close enough to Maggie's home to provide them with support when they needed it but far enough away to give them some much needed space to start mapping out their future together. 

They'd only been living together for a few weeks, but they'd developed a routine of sorts. Today was Monday, which meant that Carrie attended her yoga class at noon, ran a few errands afterwards and picked up something for a late lunch with Quinn back at home before Frannie woke from her nap.

He checked his watch. He figured he had forty minutes tops before she returned. He couldn't let her see Frannie like this. She'd never forgive him. He sighed deeply, rolling up his sleeves and grimacing at the task ahead of him. Thankfully his special ops training kicked in, helping him to quickly prioritise the tasks required in the tight timeframe. He turned his attention to Frannie. 

He heard Carrie's parting words echoing in his head.  _Don't leave her alone in her bedroom, even for a minute - she's into all sorts of mischief at the moment._ He'd heard the beep that signalled the end of their clothes dryer's cycle and foolishly thought he could slip to the laundry, gather up the clothes and place them on the sofa for folding once Frannie was asleep. He'd returned two minutes later to find she'd lost interest in the stacking cups they'd been playing with and discovered the diaper cream in the shelf below the change table.

The lid had flipped open easily enough, and being a brand new tube, it had taken only the slightest pressure from her chubby fist to release the contents. All over the carpet. Where she'd first smooshed it around with both hands, before giving herself a facial and hair treatment, and then moved on to redecorating the change table and the side of her crib. He'd arrived in the doorway in time to see her lose her balance and fall into the remaining smear on the carpet, rolling from side to side in an effort to right herself and whitewashing her formerly hot pink ballerina skirt and tights.

Noticing Quinn had returned to join in her fun, Frannie gave a delighted chortle. He smiled in spite of the situation, then began stripping off her ruined clothes ahead of what would need to be a fast but thorough bath.  _Fuck, this stuff is harder to remove than camouflage face paint,_ he thought. He wondered how the hell he'd get it off the carpet and shuddered. 

Eventually he placed a clean and drowsy Frannie in her crib and went to work on the rest of the room. He was bagging the evidence of his clean up when he heard the front door open. He tiptoed to the top of the stairs and smiled down at Carrie, putting his finger to his lips in the universal gesture for quiet. She nodded, smiling back, and indicated that he should meet her in the kitchen. 

As soon as she was out of sight, he darted back to Frannie's room for final sweep of the area. Satisfied, he slipped down the stairs and out the front door, disposing of his trash bag in a nearby dumpster. Letting himself back in, he headed straight for the kitchen. 

"Hey," said Carrie, pulling him to her for a kiss.

"Hey yourself," he answered once she'd released him. "How was your class?" He noticed that she was looking at him strangely. 

"What is that?" she asked, standing on tiptoes.

"What?" he asked, clenching his jaw to keep his cool.

She reached out and swiped at a smear of something on his forehead. "Diaper cream? Must have been some battle to get her ready for her nap!" she smiled.

"Nothing I couldn't handle," he shrugged. "Oh, by the way, we're nearly out of baby wipes," he said casually. 

"I'll add them to the shopping list," she said dismissively. "Now let's eat, I'm starving!"


	2. Chapter 2

Carrie and Quinn had been living together for a couple of months. They'd been taking it a day at a time for the most part, enjoying this honeymoon-like phase of their relationship. Eventually they'd have to stop drifting and start getting back to the real world, but for now, their own little world was enough for them. They sat on the sofa together one evening, enjoying a glass of wine.

"Have you had any thoughts about returning to the workforce?" Carrie asked, breaking the silence.

"Not really," Quinn answered, "This is the longest break I've had for years, maybe ever. I'm not sure I want it to end," he admitted. "Are you thinking about it?"

"A little," she responded truthfully. "I thought I might contact a few of the colleges in the area and see if there are any vacancies for English language teaching. It would be an easy way for me to transition back to work. I've done it before. It's not too demanding and I'd still have plenty of time for Frannie. And you. Us, I mean." She smiled shyly at him.

"Sounds good," he said, putting his glass down and looking at her expectantly. "Well?" he continued.

"What?" she asked, worried he already suspected what she was up to now.

"What ideas have you had about me returning to work?"

"Um, I..." she hesitated.

"It's ok," he smiled. "I can see the wheels turning."

"I wondered what you might think about some lightweight security work."

"Lightweight security work?"

"You know, maybe you could start a firm offering security for celebrities or high flying business types who are paranoid or maybe had a couple of death threats..." she tapered off when she saw the look on his face.

"Carrie," he began, shaking his head. "I'm not prepared to risk my life protecting my country any more. And I'm sure as hell not going to risk it protecting shady, rich assholes from stalkers or dissatisfied customers," he finished.

"Well, I did have one other idea," she began cautiously, putting down her own glass. If his response to her last suggestion was any indication, she had a fair idea what he'd think of this one. She tried hard to suppress her smile.

He mistook her expression for apprehension. "What is it?" he asked, a little more gently.

"I thought you could conduct wilderness survival experiences. You know, the Bear Grylls type thing - wannabe weekend warriors, bachelor parties, guys coming of age and their friends would spend a few days with you living rough and learning to fend for themselves in the woods, or the mountains or wherever!"

"Bear Grylls?! That pussy motherfucker! Shit, Carrie!" he exploded.

"Gotcha!" she laughed, raising her hands in mock self defence.

Realising he'd walked right into her trap, he smiled slowly, shaking his head. "You got me," he admitted, pretending docility for a moment, before suddenly lunging towards her, grabbing both wrists and forcing her backwards towards the arm of the sofa, causing her to squeal.

"Who needs Bear Grylls when you've got Peter fucking Quinn?!" he growled, applying his mouth to the soft part of her throat, grinning as he felt her moan and relax beneath him.

_Yeah,_ she thought, smiling, before she became completely distracted, _exactly what I expected._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Bwg71 who was keen for a toddler tantrum at the checkout ;-)

Quinn wished he hadn't trusted Carrie's judgement. Frannie had been up half the night with teething pain and had refused her midday nap. He thought a quiet afternoon at home would be best, but Carrie decided they should get out for a change of scene and go for coffee.

Frannie had barely tolerated the cafe and on the way home, Carrie had announced they needed to stop at the grocery store. As he unbuckled Frannie from her carseat, Quinn could tell from her red eyes and the way she wouldn't stop gnawing on her hand that this wouldn't be pretty.

"Just the essentials," he warned Carrie, who picked up on the urgency in his voice and grabbed a basket instead of a cart.

Suddenly Frannie noticed the child sized carts just inside the store. She pushed against Quinn's chest, grunting around the hand still in her mouth, trying to get down, clearly wanting to take one for a test drive.

Quinn gave Carrie a questioning look and she shrugged and nodded, thinking it might be a good distraction while they did a quick blitz of the store. Soon Frannie was toddling along happily behind her cart, following Carrie, under the watchful eye of Quinn.

Carrie grabbed milk and bread, some strawberries for Frannie, and toothpaste. She noticed with a grin that Quinn had snuck a box of condoms into the basket when she wasn't looking.

They headed for the checkouts and Quinn was pissed off to discover there was only one register open. "Fuck this shit," Carrie thought she heard him mutter. They'd been waiting for a couple of minutes when Carrie suddenly remembered they needed a light globe to replace the one that had burnt out in the bathroom. "I'll run and get one," Quinn offered, keen for her to keep their place in the queue.

Just as he left, another register opened up and the operator beckoned Carrie over. As Carrie began unloading her basket, Frannie started grabbing candy bars from the display adjacent to the register and loading up her cart. _Where is Quinn,_ she wondered wearily, trying to stay calm _._ A twenty-something guy in a suit moved in behind them with his basket, chatting in a loud voice on his cell phone.

"We don't need all those candy bars, Sweet Girl," said Carrie gently, taking handfuls out of Frannie's cart and cramming them back into the display. Frannie immediately started wailing like a banshee, face red, tears streaming, and grabbed more candy to replace what Carrie had removed.

The suit eyed them disapprovingly, putting his hand over his ear to shut out the noise and raising his voice to continue his conversation. "Yeah, I'm at the grocery store now," Carrie overheard him say as she tried to wrestle the shopping cart from Frannie's grasp.

As she freed the cart, Frannie plopped down on the floor and grabbed a couple of small chocolate bars that Carrie had overlooked. She tried unsuccessfully to tear open the wrappers and the volume of her wailing increased with her frustration. "It's a fucking zoo here," the suit continued, oblivious to the fact that Quinn had returned silently to the register and was assessing the situation. "There's some soccer mom with a screaming brat trying to shoplift a bunch of candy..."

Carrie froze for an instant before dropping Frannie's shopping cart and rounding on the suit. _Fuck no_ , thought Quinn, immediately tearing open one of the chocolate bars and popping it into Frannie's mouth, ending her wailing. He scooped her up with one arm, handed the empty wrapper and the other bar to the sales clerk for scanning, gave her a couple of twenties and an apologetic smile, and snagged the bag of groceries. "Soccer mom!" Carrie was saying to the suit, while jabbing her finger into his chest, "Listen here, asshole..." She broke off suddenly as Quinn hissed in her ear, "Let's just get the fuck out of here!"

In the parking lot, Quinn quickly buckled Frannie into her carseat and tossed the bag of groceries into the spare seat beside her. Carrie stood beside the car, arms waving, exclaiming, "Can you believe the nerve of that motherfucker?!" Quinn saw that Frannie was about to finish the last bite of her chocolate. He swiftly tore the wrapper off the spare candy bar and popped it into Carrie's mouth, stopping her tirade. "Yeah, he was a real shit head", Quinn agreed, touching his forehead to hers and giving her upper arms a quick squeeze of reassurance. "Now Carrie, can we _please_ just get the fuck out of here!"


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Frangi, Zeffy and Laure - my humble contribution to the argument that wall sex can be romantic, even in an everyday domestic scene ;-)

“This is the last of them,” said Maggie, moving through the front doorway with a large plastic storage tub.

“Hey, let me get that,” urged Quinn, hurrying to take it from her.

“It’s not heavy,” she reassured him, as she set it down in the living room.

Turning to Carrie, she continued, “It’s the baby clothes Frannie outgrew last year. And a few of her stuffed toys that were still at my place. You can probably just put it straight into her wardrobe. Looks like you’ve got enough other unpacking to do here.”

Carrie and Quinn looked around them. Their living room resembled a storage facility. After renting a condo together while they drew breath after Islamabad, Quinn had bought them a house not far from Maggie’s where Frannie could play in the yard and grow up close to her cousins, who adored her.

Maggie had offered to have Frannie at her house for the day to free up Carrie and Quinn for the big move and associated errands. The removalists had dropped off the furniture and cartons of belongings from their condo earlier in the afternoon. Quinn had just finished reassembling Frannie’s cot upstairs in her new bedroom when Maggie arrived with Frannie and several tubs of items she’d been storing for Carrie.

“She’s fed and bathed,” smiled Maggie, ruffling Frannie’s hair as the toddler snuggled into Carrie, enjoying a cuddle with Mommy after her day with Aunt Maggie. “And she was having too much fun with Ruby and Josie to even try putting her down for a nap, so she should be ready for an early night.”

“Thanks so much,” Carrie said earnestly, drawing Maggie into her cuddle with Frannie. “For everything,” she added meaningfully.

Maggie shook her head. “It’s great to see you so happy,” she said quietly, “You deserve it, all of you.”

Quinn offered to see her out and returned to find Carrie and Frannie playing a game of peekaboo behind some of the boxes. Frannie toddled over to the plastic tubs Maggie had brought over and lifted the lid off nearest, which happened to be the one containing her clothes and toys. “J-Bear,” she gurgled happily, lifting a worn, once white teddy bear out of the box.

“Hey,” began Quinn gently, swinging Frannie up into a cuddle on his chest, “No unpacking your things now. There’s enough mess…” he trailed off, suddenly noticing what she was holding.

“ _Motherfucker…”_ he muttered softly, taking the bear and looking over at Carrie who had blushed scarlet all the way to the roots of her hair.

"Let's give her the tour so she can start getting her bearings," suggested Carrie quickly, trying in vain to hide her embarrassment. "Then I'll try to get her down for the night."

Quinn was more than happy to lead the tour. After all, the house was the one he and his mother had lived in when he first met Carrie, so he was quite familiar with the layout, which was unchanged. He'd observed one day when driving around the area on a whim that the house was for sale. He'd asked Carrie to accompany him to an inspection and afterwards they'd agreed that it suited their needs. He'd made an offer the next day and was surprised to realise he was excited when it was accepted.

Frannie had started yawning by the time they reached her bedroom, so Carrie took her from Quinn and readied her for bed. When she returned downstairs after Frannie had fallen asleep, she found Quinn sitting on the floor among the boxes, holding the old white teddy bear, absently tracing the red heart on its chest, just as she had done all those years ago. She sat quietly next to him.

"I can't believe you still have this," he said softly, handing the bear to her.

"Well, he's Frannie's now," Carrie smiled, hugging the bear to her chest.

"Did she come up with the name J-Bear?" he wanted to know.

"Maggie and I called them J-Bear and B-Bear. You know, in honour of John and Bill who won them for us," she admitted, blushing. "You probably think it's corny."

"No," he said honestly. "I think it's sweet."

"God, Quinn," she reflected, shaking her head, "That was twenty years ago. Was it really us? Were we ever that young?"

He studied her for a moment, feeling emotions he hadn't felt in many years. Here he was, in the childhood home he'd lived in the longest, with the girl he'd loved back then. Somehow, after many years apart, she was his again. And they were a family. For the first time ever, he felt connected to his past, satisfied in the present and hopeful for the future.

He stood and extended his hand saying quietly, "C'mere," as he drew her to him.

“You know what,” he began thoughtfully, holding both her hands with his. “When we were kids, we hung out, we kissed, and we made out in my truck, but we never slow danced. We weren’t exactly the prom-going type. But I always wanted to hold you close, feel you move with me, whisper in your ear and make you smile.” He looked down, giving a snort, and muttered, “Now who’s being corny?”

“No, it’s sweet,” she said, echoing his earlier sentiment. “And yeah, I’d love to dance.” She took her phone from her pocket, searched for a playlist of slow jazz favourites and set it going on top of the nearest boxes. She turned back to him, leaned up and clasped her hands behind his neck, her eyes shining like a lovestruck teenager’s.

She saw that his eyes held the same longing and promise she’d seen there when he kissed her for the first time so long ago, and of course, their second first time not so long ago. His arms moved around her waist.

For a moment he held her still, then started swaying slightly from the hips, moving her with him. She laid her head against his chest. Before the first song had ended, one of his hands had drifted up to caress the side of her breast and the other had slid down to cup her ass. She felt him becoming hard against her and indulged in a secret smile against his chest. He brushed a kiss against her ear whispering, “I want you.”

She tilted her head back to look at him, still smiling, and said teasingly, “I thought you wanted to slow dance?”

“I do,” he said, his eyes dark.

He gently lifted her faded T shirt over her head. Following his cue, she unbuckled his belt and opened his jeans while he removed his own T shirt. He pulled down his jeans and stepped out of them as she stripped off the rest of her clothes. Looking her over reverently, he backed her a couple of steps to the wall.

He lifted her to straddle his hips and she placed her arms around his neck and crossed her ankles against his ass to hold him close. He relaxed his support to allow her to sink down onto him before wrapping an arm around her and pressing her to the wall.

They moved together as gently as they had during their slow dance, wordlessly enjoying their closeness and deep connection. His lips trailed open mouthed kisses from her jaw down her neck and his free hand caressed her hip and waist, before gently kneading her breast. Her hands roamed over his back and shoulders, feeling his strong muscles at work. She brought one hand up to cup his cheek and her mouth sought his, their kissing tender at first, then more fervent as he lowered his hand to gently please her. She moaned against his mouth and he held her tightly when the wave washed over them both.

She rested her head on his shoulder as their breathing slowed and he brushed a last kiss over her ear and whispered, “ _Welcome home_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter also test drives a plan that I have discussed with FrangipaniFlower for the mature CQ relationship to remember things from its youthful predecessor in Two of a Kind. Here it's the teddy bear that John won for Carrie at the fair. They also reminisce about something that took place in John's truck that is still ahead for our young heroes - sort of a sneak preview ;-)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Zeffy who prompted this story and for finlyfoe who was also inspired by RF's sartorial splendour ♥

“Do we really have to go?” demanded Quinn.

Carrie rolled her eyes. “Quinn, it’s Ruby’s 13th birthday. It’s a big deal to her. She’s a teenager now. I’ve missed most of her birthday parties, Josie’s too, and she’ll be disappointed if we’re not there tonight.”

“But the 80’s – of all the fucking themes to choose!”

“She’s starting to get into music. She’s been going through Maggie and Bill’s music collection, asking what they listened to when they were teenagers, and she found some of Bill’s old vinyl records. She was mesmerised by the sounds and the fashions on the covers.”

“Shit!” sighed Quinn, shaking his head.

“I don’t know what you’re complaining about anyway. You just have to put on your costume and show up. Maggie and I had to take the girls to thrift store after thrift store looking for outfits,” shuddered Carrie, gesturing to the bags she’d tossed on the bed. “It was a hell of a morning!”

“So what did you choose?” asked Quinn, annoyance giving way to curiosity.

“I didn’t get to choose!” she exploded. “The girls chose. For all of us. Just the family, I mean.”

Quinn started to feel uneasy. “Who are we going as?”

“I’m going as Madonna,” Carrie answered sulkily.

“Really?” he smirked. “You found a cone bra at a thrift shop?”

“Nope, a shitload of white lace,” she answered, tipping out one of the bags and flopping face down into the pile of frills and froth that slid out onto the bed. “The ‘Like a Virgin’ era,” she mumbled unhappily.

“Well,” began Quinn, climbing over her, an idea forming in his head. He moved her hair aside and began trailing kisses up her neck to her ear where he stopped and whispered, “Maybe when we get home, we can lose your virginity. Again.”

She flipped over onto her back to look at him, confessing, “Not sure I’ll be up to it. This outfit reminds me of what Maggie wore under her wedding dress!”

“Way to kill a mood, Carrie!” he groaned, rolling off her onto the side of the bed. “So who am I? Jon Bon Jovi?”

“Um, no…”

“Eddie Van Halen? Shit, not one of the guys from Motley Crue? God, that make-up!”

“You mean you’re not comfortable with the idea of make-up?” she asked, a little panicky.

“Fuck, just tell me!”

Carrie shook the contents of the last bag out onto the bed. Quinn picked up a black shirt with an eye-watering floral pattern.

“Bill had an album called ‘Best of British’ or something in his collection,” Carrie said quickly. “The girls took a shine to The Cure – such a unique look and sound. You’re going as Robert Smith.”

“For fuck’s sake, Carrie!” he exclaimed, throwing the shirt back down on the bed in disgust. “Why didn’t you steer them to something else?!”

“Look, there weren’t a lot of good choices…” she tried to explain before he cut her off, suddenly noticing something next to the shirt.

“Goddamn it – is that a can of hair spray?!”

“Consider yourself lucky!” she snapped, “Bill’s going as Boy George – Karma fucking Chameleon!”

Quinn blinked slowly in disbelief, his nostrils flaring, then snatched up the shirt and hair spray, snagged a pair of black trousers from the wardrobe and stormed off to the bathroom to get ready. While attempting to tease and lacquer his hair, he decided there was no way he’d be spending an entire evening in such an atrocity of a shirt. “That motherfucker will be toast at the first opportunity”, he muttered with a smile, then caught a glimpse of his reflection in the bathroom mirror and shuddered.

He made his way back to the bedroom. No sign of Carrie. _Probably getting ready in the spare bedroom - perfect._ He quickly grabbed a pair of jeans and a dark T shirt, stuffed them into a bag and crept downstairs to smuggle it into the car. He returned to the bedroom where Carrie was now waiting for him. Apparently she’d been busy with the curling tongs. She looked him over and tried not to smile.

“I need help with the hooks on the back of my corset,” she said, biting her lip.

He clenched his jaw, turned her away and starting at her waist, worked his way up as she held her hair to the side. When he was finished, he gently spun her back to face him and passed her the white gloves waiting on the bed.

“You look…” they both began, then faltered, smiling in spite of the situation.

“Let’s go and get this over with,” he sighed, gesturing to the door.

"One last thing,” said Carrie, pulling him in for an obscenely filthy kiss. After several moments, she broke away, leaning back to regard the red lipstick smeared all around his mouth. “There, your make-up’s done,” she smiled, tidying up her own lips with a tissue as he groaned and shook his head.

They arrived at Maggie’s a short time later and Quinn jumped visibly when she opened the door to them dressed as Cyndi Lauper. “You could’ve warned me,” he muttered to Carrie as they followed her through to the back patio where the party was in full swing.

Ruby and Josie had insisted that Frannie stay behind after the shopping trip so they could all get ready together. They’d found outfits that matched enough to allow them to dress up as girl rappers Salt-N-Pepa. They each held one of Frannie’s hands as she toddled over to Carrie and Quinn in her boots and sweats, loving her oversized cap and costume bling. The older girls had had a sneak preview of Carrie’s outfit when she’d tried it on in the dressing room that morning, but squealed when they saw Quinn.

“Uncle Peter, you look amazing!”

“Yeah, thanks,” he said shortly. “Oh, and happy birthday, Ruby,” he managed with a brief smile, after a nudge from Carrie.

He scooped up Frannie for a cuddle but passed her to Carrie when she became fascinated with pulling at his teased hair. He handed Carrie a glass of white wine from a tray of drinks on the table and took a red for himself. He pointed to Bill who was busy over at the grill, indicating that he was going to say hello. Carrie nodded and took Frannie to mingle with the other guests. Quinn walked quietly up to Bill, standing much closer than he normally would to another male in a social situation and waited for the inevitable. Sensing a presence behind him, Bill turned, knocking the red wine all over Quinn.

“Oops! Geez, sorry Peter!” he exclaimed, diving for a wad of napkins and pressing them to Quinn’s shirt.

“Hey, it’s no biggie,” reassured Quinn, taking the napkins from Bill, hoping to allow a few moments for the stain to soak in and render the shirt unwearable.

"You’re right!” said Bill, inspecting the shirt closely. “Looks like the wine landed on the black areas – completely missed all the flowers! You can’t even tell where it was! Lucky break!”

"Yeah, lucky,” muttered Quinn, taking in Bill’s garish outfit, plaited wig and hideous make-up. _Maybe Carrie was right, things could have been a lot worse._

“Need any help here?” he offered, hoping he might still finish the shirt off with barbeque grease but Bill waved him away and insisted he go and enjoy the party.

He found Carrie and Frannie hanging out with her nieces and the school friends Ruby had invited. Maggie had asked Carrie to help with supervision while she prepared salads to go with the barbeque. The kids were taking turns to mime along to the music playing. The girls were mostly dressed as female vocalists from the era – he could make out Whitney Houston and Annie Lennox among them. Two of the boys had come dressed as Axl Rose and Slash from Guns N’ Roses, but there was another whose outfit had him puzzled. He caught Carrie’s attention and nodded quizzically towards the boy in the jeans, white T shirt, and oversized biker jacket and Aviators that clearly belonged to his father or older brother. _What the fuck was that smeared all around his face – ash, eye shadow?_

“George Michael,” mouthed Carrie with a grin.

 _Fuck_ , thought Quinn, shaking his head almost imperceptibly. The kid looked to have a crush on Ruby. He resolved to keep an eye on him.

When it was time for dessert, Quinn grabbed his drink – he’d moved on to whiskey to help him deal with the evening – and made his way to Maggie who was carrying the birthday cake out from the kitchen on what looked to be a heavy marble board.

“Allow me,” he said, and she nodded her thanks, each of them trying not to stare at the other’s ghastly hair and make-up and outrageous attire.

He placed the cake at the head of the table and picked up the box of matches on the board beside it. Maggie and Bill began gathering everyone around to start singing Happy Birthday once Quinn finished lighting the candles.

 _He hasn’t lit too many birthday cakes before,_ mused Maggie, smiling. _He started with the closest candles first, now he has to lean across to reach the farthest…_ “Oh my God!” she screamed as his shirt tails caught on fire.

Carrie had been watching from nearby as she held a sleepy Frannie, who she now passed quickly to Maggie. She rushed to Quinn shouting, “Take it off! Let me help you!” as she ripped the shirt open, buttons flying in all directions. He pulled it off his shoulders, wadded it into a ball and threw it onto the lawn where it soon burnt out, leaving nothing but a few smouldering rags and, to Bill’s dismay, a blackened patch on the grass.

A cheer went up among the young boys in attendance while most of the girls looked on in horror. Quinn was suddenly conscious that he was standing half naked in front of two dozen people, many of whom were a G-rated audience.

“Let me give you something of Bill’s to wear,” began Maggie, finding her voice.

“Not necessary,” said Quinn, shaking his head, “I think I have a change of clothes in the car.”

Carrie whispered to Maggie that she’d check to make sure he was ok and Maggie nodded and said that she’d go ahead and have Ruby cut the cake. Carrie waited for Quinn outside the bathroom and followed him in.

She noticed a small, red area on his belly as he stripped off his trousers and pulled on his jeans. “Was it worth it?” she asked, leaning casually against the wall.

“What do you mean?” he stonewalled, splashing cold water on the welt.

“That burn,” she gestured, “Was it worth it to be rid of the shirt?”

“Carrie, it caught fire when I lit the candles,” he said impatiently. He stuck his head under the faucet, rinsing out as much of the hairspray as he could.

“Quinn, I saw you dip your shirt into your drink before you struck the match,” she said, smiling now.

"And you still came to my rescue?” he teased, shutting off the water, smoothing his hair back and turning to look at her.

“Shit, you were obviously committed. I had to help you sell it,” she shrugged, passing him a towel.

They were interrupted by a knock at the door. Carrie opened it to find Ruby standing there.

“Is Uncle Peter all right?” she asked anxiously.

"He’s fine, Honey, see for yourself,” Carrie reassured her, stepping back to allow her into the bathroom.

“Thank goodness,” she said to Quinn, “When I cut the cake, I wished that you’d be ok. I was so worried.”

“Hey,” he said, bending to look her in the eye, feeling awful now. “There’s no need to worry. It was just an accident. I’ll finish getting cleaned up and changed, and join you for a piece of cake.”

“That would be great!” Ruby grinned. “Hey,” she said suddenly, “We picked up an extra shirt for Uncle Dave, Dad’s brother, this morning. He couldn’t make it tonight though, so maybe you could wear that?”

Quinn could see Carrie’s shoulders shaking with silent mirth as he bit back a sigh. “Sure, Ruby.”

She darted off and returned with a bag which she handed to him, saying excitedly, “Aunt Carrie can probably help you with the headband,” before leaving to get back to her party.

“Headband?!” he spat when she was out of earshot. _When would this clusterfuck of an evening be over?_

He reached into the bag and pulled out the promised shirt. It was red – hardly his preferred color. He unfolded it, groaning when he saw it was a muscle shirt. He glared at Carrie as he pulled it over his head and smoothed it down. She took a bandana from the bag, folded and rolled it, centred it over his forehead and moved to tie it behind him. A few drops of water fell from his still damp hair and settled onto his forehead, looking like beads of sweat. He glanced at himself in the mirror, shook his head and turned to Carrie.

“Bruce Springsteen,” they said in unison.

Carrie smiled again and put her arms around him, crushing her tulle skirt between them. “You’ve made the birthday girl very happy,” she said, giving him a long, lingering kiss. Then leaning back, her smile sultry now, she continued, “And when we get home, you can make _me_ very happy – I always wanted to sleep with The Boss!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Visual inspiration for this fic as per links below. It's actually been simmering on the back burner since I first saw the RF pics and associated horrified discussion on LJ, and it bubbled over during the excitement of the Fic Bazaar ;-)
> 
> RF wearing shirt in question: http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/t_zefir/77173207/10919/10919_600.jpg  
> RF in muscle shirt: https://www.flickr.com/photos/138691410@N03/27218039970/in/album-72157666792533133  
> Robert Smith - The Cure front man:  
> http://www.google.com.au/search?q=the+cure+never+enough&prmd=vin&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwjuobKs2bXNAhXEJpQKHcs7DzIQ_AUICCgC&biw=360&bih=567#imgrc=8BS4aoTOwH8NzM%3A  
> Bruce Springsteen - The Boss: http://www.google.com.au/search?q=bruce+Springsteen&biw=360&bih=567&prmd=nvi&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwi8hbfw-7TNAhUIKpQKHXKeA7kQ_AUICCgD#imgrc=BGlKjwlSarYsAM%3A


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a companion to new chapter "Bittersweet" posted today in my other story, "Two of a Kind", also set in this AU, and is best read after it ♥

_She lifted her head from his chest, rolled away and came up onto her hands and knees to reach for the condoms on the nightstand. She was surprised to find him suddenly poised over her, his chest touching her back as he took the package from her hand. His other arm wrapped around the front of her shoulders to pull her back slightly so she was stable on the bed and his whispered, “Stay like that,” along with the kiss he brushed against her ear made her shiver._

 _They were still new to this and although she trusted him, she felt exposed as he sat back onto his heels behind her and tore open the foil package. Soon though, he was up on his knees again, gently rubbing himself against the slickness surrounding her entrance. He held her hip carefully with his other hand and she felt him slowly fill her, his pelvis coming to rest against her ass._

 _

Before this, their coupling had only been face to face. She’d concentrated on his eyes, the longing evident there, their kisses and caresses, and of course the sensations created where they joined. She’d never been positioned like this, vulnerable, their connection purely physical and reduced to a single point of contact. The feeling of him inside her was intensified and she closed her eyes and gave herself over to it.

_

Carrie awoke suddenly on a moan. Disoriented for a moment, she glanced around the room and found herself back in the present. No Quinn. Baby monitor switched off. Sunlight filtering through the curtains. She drew a deep breath, her dreams of their younger love drifting away as she slid out of bed and headed for the door. She followed the smell of coffee to the kitchen and through the window caught a flash of strawberry blonde bobbing around the garden.

Coffee mug in hand, she stepped outside and found Franny in joyful pursuit of the neighbour’s cat, a regular trespasser despite Quinn’s accuracy with the water pistol often tucked into his waistband. The other day he’d wondered aloud about buying a pump-action super soaker. “Harder to carry concealed,” Carrie had quipped.

He was staring up at the huge oak tree, arms folded, empty mug dangling from his fingers.

“She rises,” he said with a small smile as she wrapped one arm around him.

“Thanks for the sleep-in,” she said. “And the coffee.”

“All part of the service,” he joked.

“You’re in a good mood,” she observed.

“I’ve had an idea.”

“Care to share?”

“You’ll know soon enough,” he smiled. “Back in a few hours.” He handed her his empty mug and ruffled Franny’s hair on his way around to the front of the house. The side gates were new, part of their Franny-proofing of the house and yard, and neither the hinge nor the latch made any noise as he passed through it. She heard the engine of his truck catch and wondered what surprise he had in store.

She saw movement from the corner of her eye and turned to see the cat marking one of the garden chairs as his own. “Motherfucker!” she hissed, casting about for Quinn’s water pistol. Maybe the super soaker wasn’t such a bad idea.

He arrived home as she was making grilled cheese toasties for Franny and herself, so she started preparing extra serves with ham and tomato. Franny ran to greet him and he swung her up for a cuddle and lent in to kiss Carrie.

“I need to unload the truck,” he told her casually.  

“Sure,” she shrugged, “you’ve got a few minutes before these will be ready.”

“I’ll need longer than that,” he said, “I was thinking I’d do it during Franny’s nap.”

“I could help then,” she offered.

He nodded his acceptance, released Franny and set out plates for lunch.

Forty minutes later, Carrie closed the door to Franny’s room and returned to find Quinn starting the dishwasher.

“If you hook the side gate back, we can take everything around to the yard,” he said, heading for the front door. “I’ll meet you there in a minute.”

Carrie slipped out the kitchen door and rounded the house. She opened the gate back onto the catch Quinn had installed on the side wall of the house when he built the gate and waited, wondering what new project he had dreamed up.

A few moments later he manhandled a length of curved, red plastic through the gateway.

“Hey, a slide!” she said.

He set it down and turned back immediately for the next load, Carrie at his heels, impatient now to see what else he’d bought.

“Let me guess, is it a swing set?”

“Nope.”

By now they’d reached the driveway and Carrie stopped dead when she saw what was in the back of his truck.

“Shit, Quinn,” she said in surprise, “there’s enough timber here to build a garden shed!”

“Or a treehouse,” he said quietly.

Tears filled her eyes, and he took her in his arms and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

 

***

 

_She lifted her head from his chest, rolled away and came up onto her hands and knees to reach for the condoms on the nightstand. Instinct stirred within him and in an instant he was poised over her, his chest touching her back as he took the package from her hand. He wrapped his other arm around the front of her shoulders and pulled her back slightly so she was stable on the bed. He felt her shiver when he whispered, “Stay like that,” and brushed a kiss against her ear._

_They were still new to this and he was awed by her trust and the sight of her as he sat back onto his heels behind her and rolled on the sheath. Soon though, he was up on his knees again, gently rubbing himself against the slickness surrounding her entrance. He held her hip carefully with his other hand and filled her slowly, his pelvis coming to rest against her ass._

_Before this, their coupling had only been face to face. He’d focussed on her eyes, the desire evident there, their kisses and caresses, and of course the sensations created where they joined. He’d never taken her like this, dominant, their connection purely physical and reduced to a single point of contact. The feeling of being inside her was intensified and his eyes roved over her, feasting on the landscape of her body before him._

Quinn awoke suddenly on a groan. Disoriented for a moment, he glanced around the room and found himself back in the present. No Carrie. Baby monitor switched off. Sunlight filtering through the curtains. He sighed deeply, his dreams of their younger love slipping away as he climbed out of bed and opened the door. He tracked the smell of coffee to the kitchen and through the window spied a flash of strawberry blonde bobbing around the garden.

Coffee mug in hand, he stepped outside and heard Franny squealing with glee as Carrie fired the new super soaker at the neighbour’s cat. Worth every penny, he thought, as it scrambled back over the fence.

He looked over at the treehouse that was taking shape under the oak tree. The first afternoon he’d set some posts in concrete to help bear its weight and cut to size the timber for the platform the treehouse would sit on. The next day he’d assembled the platform frame in position and fastened the decking to it. The day after that he’d built the frame for the treehouse on top of the deck. Yesterday it had been the walls and rails, and today it was roof and ramp.

Carrie put down the water blaster and joined him, smiling as he wrapped one arm around her.

“Thanks for the sleep-in,” he said. “And the coffee.”

“Labour union rules,” she joked.

She took Franny out to shop for cushions and a few toys for inside the treehouse, figuring he could get some uninterrupted work done in their absence. When they returned home, he was fastening treads to the ramp ahead of fixing it in place.

Later, after Franny woke from her nap, Carrie brought her out to the garden and Quinn carefully helped her up the ramp and into the treehouse. She rolled around on the cushions there for a while, building them into a pile and jumping on them and playing peekaboo through the windows, before suddenly noticing the slide. She hurried the short distance to it and slid down, beaming with delight. Carrie watched as Quinn caught her at the bottom, the same broad smile on his face as when he’d held Franny after her father’s funeral. The three of them played there until long after dark.

That night, once Franny had finally collapsed from exhaustion, Carrie and Quinn fell into bed. She lay with her head on his chest and her fingers interlaced with his.

“I’ve been thinking about the day we planted that tree,” she said softly. “I bet your Mom never expected you’d build a treehouse in it.”

“What if I said she hoped I would?” he asked after a moment, equally softly, stroking her hair with his free hand.

She raised her head to look at him, surprise evident on her face.

“What are you saying?”

He sighed. “That night, before I went to bed, I looked in on her to say goodnight. She was reading a letter my Dad had written her before he was killed. She made me read it and warned me that not everyone found what they had, and that if I found it, there might not be a second chance if I fucked it up.”

“She said _that?_ ”

“Not in those words, but that was the idea.”

“And you think she thought you’d found it?”

“We could have had that discussion any other night. What was special about that day?” he asked.

She searched his face for the answer and saw it there in his eyes.

“You,” he said quietly, clutching her to his chest again and kissing the top of her head. She lay there for a while, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart.

Eventually, she rolled away and came up onto her hands and knees to switch on the baby monitor. An instant later he was poised over her, his chest touching her back as he wrapped his other arm around the front of her shoulders and moved her back onto the bed.

She shivered in anticipation even before he kissed her ear and whispered, “Stay like that…”


End file.
